


Letter From Belgium

by orphan_account



Category: The Mountain Goats (Band)
Genre: Agoraphobia, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not really romantic, it's up to you, not really platonic either, read it however you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 20:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11043339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Martin calls to say he's sending old electrical equipmentThat's good we can always use some more electrical equipment





	Letter From Belgium

**Author's Note:**

> This work its inspired by The Mountain Goats song, _Letter From Belgium._ It's not in any way to do with the meaning of the song, its just a story I made up when hearing it.
> 
> Here is the song : https://youtu.be/gZtunFYus28
> 
> The story is taking the song as the point of view of the person in the house, at least at the start
> 
> It's not extremely important to listen to the song, but I think it's good and therefore worth listening to
> 
> One-shot, written in one day. I apologize now for any inconsistencies!

It wasn't actually needed. He knew that really. But he wanted an excuse to be there. To see him. Even though he knew what would happen. He put the box of found objects down next to the door, leaning over it to peak through the warped glass window. And there it was. That feeling of his heart tearing through his chest as he found the sight of one he loved so much, huddled in the foetal position and shaking. It killed Martin to see him like this, but there was nothing he could do except keep coming back.

It had been 3 months since John had locked himself away from the world. From Martin. 

He had seemed like a normal child, maybe a few attention problems, but he and Martin had always got on like a house on fire. Playing together, sitting in class together, going to the same college. It was around college that the problems had started, and Martin couldn't quite stop blaming himself. He should have seen the signs. He _did_ see the signs, but he always thought it was just John being John. He thought he just had a nervous disposition. That he would get over it soon. He kicked himself for ever believing it was that easy to get over mental illness.

Nothing spectacular had happened to push John over the edge. To make it that he couldn't even leave the house. Martin understood that now. It was just lots of little things, building up inside his mind until they became terrifying. Terrifying. That was it. John was scared of everything down to his own shadow. Leaving the house was not an option anymore. So martin continued to bring hims boxes of things that weren't even useful. He just wanted an excuse to see his best friend.

That's not completely true. Sometimes he would bring something useful. A supply of protein bars. A box of cleaning products. Martin had noticed from a young age how much calmer John was when his surroundings were clean and orderly. But if he only brought useful things he would be there barely once a month, and Martin  couldn't stand being away from him for that long. So he kept coming back. Kept feeling his heart break. But there was nothing else he could do.

He crouched by the window for another 3 minutes, just watching John, all balled up and shaking. Slowly he got up. As much as it hurt to be there, it hurt even more to walk away.It wouldn't be for long though. Tomorrow he would be bringing the food. He didn't leave that on the porch. Martin knew full well that he didn't actually open the door. He didn't collect any of the boxes that had piled up over the past months. Instead he would find ways to get that through to the inside.  It was the last time he tried this Martin had actually broken a window and heard John howling in pain, just from the fact some of the outside was getting in. 

Despite that, he couldn't bring himself to stop.  Sometimes he worried what would happen if something stopped him. His visits were the only remaining connection of John to the outside world. He couldn't give that up. He couldn't let him go. He walked back to his own house, not really thinking about anything, but still thinking enough to keep the deafening silence from his mind. There wasn't anything else to think about. Even before John had exiled himself, Martin's whole life had become about John. He just felt lost without him there now. If he didn't keep to glimpse him through that old, twisted window every few days, then he felt he wouldn't be able top leave the house either. He pushed that thought away. Over the past few months he'd been reading up on it a lot, talking to whatever specialists he could get hold of about the subject, and he knew that it wasn't as simple as that. He understood, but John couldn't see that.

 

* * *

 

The next day, around the same time, Martin go to Johns house, and prepared himself for the pain. You can never really prepare yourself for the pain of seeing a loved one like this, but he tried none the less. He carried with him a box heavy with all sorts of food. Food that would last for a long time. Food that didn't need to be cooked in any way. It was before John had stopped allowing contact that he had stopped using tools to prepare his meals. Another sign of his anxiety growing, one specialist told Martin. He tried not to think about it. Now that he understood the signs, he hated himself for not doing anything to help when he still could.

He went to the side of the house, where he has broken the window the time he had delivered food before, and saw that John had taped it up. Martin's heart jumped at the sight. John knew how to fix things. He could have easily made a more permanent cover for the window, but he had just used cardboard and some tape to stick it down like a flap. He had left it so that martin could use it again. He was reaching out. _He was recovering_. Martin pushed it out of his mind. No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't let himself hope that he would have his best friend back soon. He probably just realized that Martin was giving him food and he was hungry, so instead of letting other parts of his sanctuary break, he left this hole there for Martin to use.

Martin poked at the flap a little, holding his breath and listening for the scream of pain that had greeted him last time. No sound came. That was a good sign, he hoped. Maybe John had gone somewhere hidden so he would see the outside getting in again. Martin let out his breath as he started to post pop tarts through the hole. He tried hard to find a mix of food and keep his diet varied and balanced, but that was difficult when you were limited to nothing fresh and nothing you have to cook. He stopped for a little when he heard floorboards creaking. John must be on the move. It very rare that he moves while someone is around. Normally he huddles in a ball, like he was doing yesterday, until Martin has left. He must have been feeling brave today. Once again, Martin's heart jumped.

_He really was recovering!_

_No._ Stop thinking that. Martin knew that , no matter how bad, people are going to have good days. Well... more positive days. John must just be feeling particularly brave today. That's all.

Of course he was always hopeful that this time would last longer. That he might... But no. He couldn't _think_ like that. It was a long process. He wasn't going to rush him. John needed to do this in his own time, and he would be there to hug and kiss him again when this was over. Until then...

Martin pushed in the last of the food and secured the flap. He took several seconds, listening, but there wasn't anymore sound. He guessed John must have stopped being brave. Maybe he just hadn't realized someone was there before. Slowly Martin straightened up and crept to the front of the house. He couldn't resist. He walked up to the cluttered porch and leaned down to look though the window. It was so distorted that it took a while for his eyes to adjust, to be able to see in and hopefully catch sight of his beloved. It took another few seconds to find him. He looked a little more relaxed then yesterday. Still in a foetal position, but he wasn't trembling. And Martin couldn't be completely sure, but it certainly seemed that John was peeking though his arms and legs, looking back at him. Martin stared and wondered if it was painful for him too. Being this close to the one you love, but not being able to stay. It felt quite different from the pain he felt from anxiety. Eventually Martin broke his gaze, swallowed and stood up. It took a few minutes for him to compel his legs to walk, but eventually he moved, and he was off home again.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night - or possibly it was the next morning - Martin was laid in bed staring up at the ceiling. He was thinking, and that was always a bad idea. Actually, he wasn't so much thinking as he was remembering. The memories of fun loving, care-free John made the corner of his eyes prickle, threatening to cry. Martin made a point not to cry over this. He had to be strong for the both of them while John couldn't be.He got out of bed. It seemed sleep was a lost cause for him again tonight. He contemplated going out, but he didn't see much point without him. Maybe call him? But he never picks up. Countless times Martin had phoned, only to tell a machine he would be coming round with something or other that he had found, only to get there and not find him. He didn't even know if he was listening, but he hoped so.

 

* * *

 

 

Martin had work today. He worked at a local bank at the weekends, filing all the costumers statements for accounts that were in need of attention. The work was simple. The pay wasn't much, but he didn't need much. Just enough to keep he and John alive. And only working two days a week was very convenient to him as it gave him time to do research into agoraphobia and anxiety. He knew there was nothing to be done, but he had to understand. That was helping in some way, wasn't it?

He got on with his work quietly. It was just enough to give him a break from life. Give him a feel of mundanity. For not the first time he felt pity for John for not having something like this. A break from the life he was forced to lead. It must be hell. Martin remembered how once someone had told him that mental illness only happens to the weak minded. For years he had believed that. But from everything he had read, from watching John battle with this for so long, he knew that wasn't true. If John wasn't as strong he would have gotten this bad a long time ago. If Martin was in his shoes he knows he wouldn't have survived this long. He was never as strong. Now he understood why - John was constantly fighting. 

He watched the time slip by while pretending to work. There really wasn't much to do. He was itching for the day to be finished. to be able to call John. Hear his voice, sounding happy albeit fake, telling him to leave a message. That was all  he had waited for the weekend for for the last couple of months. 

Finally the day was over. He didn't even wait to get out of the building before opening his phone and calling.

 

_Hi there, I can't get to the phone right now, but leave a message if it's important!_

"Hey, John, it's me. Just calling to say I'll be round later today. I've found a box full of art supplies. I know you always enjoyed doing art, so I thought I'd bring it round. Maybe I'll see you then? Bye, love"

Martin sent the message and got to his car. Driving home was tedious. It wasn't a real activity. He wished some clever person would hurry up and build a teleporter, so he could be home straight away and could just get on with his plans for the night. Alright, plan. But instead he had to sit in rush hour traffic. Another blessing of working on the weekend: it didn't last long. He got home about 20 minutes before he would have if it were a weekday. He tried to remember that.

It wasn't hard to find enough art supplies to fill a box. There was a charity shop just a few blocks away. He found some stuff there, the rest he found around his own house. Once filled he trekked to John's, box in tow. To say he was anticipating being there would be underselling his feelings. The highlight of his days was peeking through and seeing John, even when the sight hurt.

The sun was so bright as it was setting that it still felt like midday when he got to the house. It shone on the face of it, making it look like the friendliest building in a movie. A warm, inviting building where nothing could ever go wrong.Boxes of all shapes and sizes cluttered the porch. Maybe he should start taking them away. He knew that john might feel more comfortable in a tidy environment, but sources actually differed on this thought. There's no real way of knowing for sure what would make it easier for John until he had the actual experience. This might be what he needed.

The anticipation started to build inside him as he put down the box. He took a few breathes. On the off chance John was looking he needed to look calm. Carefully he crouched to look through the small window next to the door. A wave of disappointment covered him as he couldn't see John. The disappointment quickly turned to fear the longer he looked through the window, not seeing any signs of movement.

_Okay. Let's try not to panic._

Slowly, methodically he moved around the house. He was careful not to make any sudden movements, as if worried he might shock himself and bring on full on hyperventilation. He looked through each window he came across, waiting there for a good few minutes, observing everything in the room, careful not to miss a thing, before moving on. Each time he moved he felt the need to suppress the panic again. Just because he couldn't see him didn't mean anything bad had happened. He finally made it back to the front of the house. No sign. It was getting harder not to panic. He needed to remain calm to think clearly. He took out his phone. He tried calling. It didn't even ring. He was just on the edge of panicking when something caught his eye. A movement form the second floor. It was just a twitch of a curtain but it was enough for Martin to be able to calm himself.

He took a deep breath. Then he took another. When he was sure he was in control again he turned slowly, tearing his eyes from the still swaying curtain in the top window.The panic was ebbing away. The disappointment was back, joined by frustration. logically, he knew this wasn't John's fault, but sometimes it wasn't easy to remember that. He walked down the path and off the property. By the time he had got back to his own home, all the sorrow and frustration had pointed inwards. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was yet another sleepless night of staring at the ceiling. The image of the twitching curtain wouldn't leave his mind. He needed to know John was alright, but there was no way for him to go back until later that day. He had other commitments. He cursed himself for not being able to be there for someone he loved so much. It was painful. His job was so easy. One of the easiest ways to make money there was, and yet it felt like too much. He wondered idly if this was how John felt all the time. It would go far to being able to empathize. Every time he felt he understood, another layer would appear, making it clear that, try as he might, he could never completely understand.

Painful. That was definitely the word for the day. He sighed, got out of his bed and went to get into the shower. Staying in bed seemed like a much better option. The hot water jolted him awake from the sleep he wasn't having as the sunlight crept in. He realized as he used his toothpaste as body wash that driving to work was not a great idea, and he tried to ready his mind for the day ahead.

 

* * *

 

 

No. Absolutely nothing interesting happened at work. Nothing was enough to wake his brain for the haze of insomnia. From the thoughts about John. From his frustration of being so so far away. He was always far away, even when there was just a pane of glass between them. The banal day wore on. Sunday was always a slow day. No distractions were forthcoming.

He wasn't in a fit state to go to John's when work finished. He hadn't slept all weekend. His mind wasn't any better than a zombie's. In the slight chance John would see him, it would do nothing to help his own mind. Martin knew it would affect him as much as seeing him in a panic affects himself. So he set off to go home.

Things don't always work out like you plan though. The sun was already setting. It was brighter than it had been yesterday and he was mesmerized. He walked on autopilot. He didn't notice himself passing his street. He just wanted to walk until he saw something beautiful. Eventually he did. It took him longer than he'd like to admit to recognize the warm inviting house standing in front of him with the sun on it's face as John's. He walked up the porch and looked through the window. No John. He sighed and turned to the sun. The panic he had felt yesterday when he couldn't find him melted away through the pain of looking into it. Painful. It was beautiful to feel like this sometimes. He sank down, leaning against the wall, next to the door. There was something extremely calming about this. He felt more relaxed than he had done in days. His eyelids grew heavy and slowly they shut. The pain was gone but the calm stayed. And sleep finally arrived.

 

* * *

 

 

When Martin awoke it was pitch black. He looked at his watch and groaned He hadn't planned to sleep here, especially not for 10 hours. He started getting up when he noticed a streak of dim light. He stopped, shook his head and looked again. John's front door was open. His heart started beating faster. His thoughts were racing. What did this mean? Did someone break in while I was asleep? Is John okay? Slowly his had reached out to the weathered wood. He pushed it gently and peered around the edge. Martin could see as figure curled up at the end of the corridor.

 

"...John?" The figure lifted its head. For the first time in 3 months Martin heard his best friend's voice.

"Hello, Martin." He stood the bewildered, watching as John got gradually to his feet.

"But... The door. It's... open?" He knew he didn't quite want to ask that as a question but that's how it came out. John shrugged before looking deep into his eyes.

"Things are less scary in the dark," he answered. The shock wore off and a smile started to spread across Martin's bewildered face. Calmly and deliberately he started to walk over to John, measuring his reaction with every step.

"I'm going to come here every night then." John's face split into a huge smile and he caught Martin by surprise by closing the gap and giving a him a huge, vice-grip hug.

"I've missed you so much," He whispered to Martin. He couldn't answer. He was already breathing in sobs. He just bent down and planted a kiss on his forehead. That was answer enough.


End file.
